


the coil around your tongue

by Eiprej



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Victoria introspection, lots o angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiprej/pseuds/Eiprej
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Victoria has Max to herself, it's a question of what to do with her. Max doesn't seem to have much to say; Victoria is feeling too much to know what to say.</p><p>Victoria has a feeling that telling Max that Nathan is gone because of her isn't the right thing, even though it's at the tip of her tongue, bleeding through her thoughts and infecting her skull.</p><p>'Your best friend is dead because of mine.' Doesn't seem quite right, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the coil around your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> this is terrible and full of a lot of angst, you have been absolutely warned  
> short, unbeta'd and written on a complete whim, so it's not the best but here's some more angsty chasefield. based off the save the bay end, so you know it's nothing good :')

As soon as the door shuts behind her, she finds her back pressed up against it, breathing soft and slow and shutting her eyes. The beginnings of a grimace work it's way onto her face, marring her perfectly painted lips, twisting them into something much less desirable than the forced indifference she'd etched onto her face the entire day. Indifference is easier than pretending to care. Indifference is easier than forcing an apologetic smile, a solemn frown.

It's easier, until everything starts to bleed through; Victoria's patience had been wasted, spent up until the moment when they brought the coffin into the ground. The dull thump of dirt smacking the polished casing had her lips twitch, made every movement feel like plastic, nothing more than skin stretching too tight over muscle and bone. The tuxedo's fabric had felt scratchy against her skin, pins and needles sticking her.

The funeral had been a wreck. Or, no, that's entirely wrong to say- it had gone smoothly, ignoring Joyce's meltdown, ignoring the way her tears stained Madsen's pressed tuxedo- she wonders if it's a rental, because the Price family couldn't afford anymore, and especially not when they spent the rest of the cash on their own daughter's funeral.

It's laughable. Victoria tilts her head up, presses it against the door with a dull thunk. Even in a moment like this, she guesses she can't rid herself of those thoughts. It's as if the idea of their miserably pathetic financial situation made it any easier to deal with the disgusting clench of her chest.

"Fuck," Victoria breathes in a tone she hardly recognizes as her own, breathy and trembling, and she inhales softly again. "Fuck," She repeats, because she won't let herself be apologetic for the words she's spoken, the things she's thought, or-

Or whatever Nathan had done.

At the base of it, he's the reason for everything. Everything. The boy with a million problems, a bloodstream pumped with drugs and a cracked voice. Greasy hair and trembling fingers, eyes that went from dull to furiously vibrant depending on his mood, his drugs, or some ridiculous combination of both. Nathan Prescott is the reason for today, and he's the reason for every little tremble of Victoria's muscles, down to the idiotic lump in her throat.

It'd be easier if she could stop caring and pretend it was alright. The worst part is having to stomach the fact that her own best friend is a murderer, and she'd just attended his victim's funeral.

Victoria is positive she'll be okay after a minute of stewing over the situation in her head, sure she's ready to move on to her dresser and peel away the remainders of today. It's all okay until she hears two footsteps coming from down the hall, speaking in hushed voices.

She'd be an idiot if she didn't recognize them immediately. Of course it'd be Kate Marsh and Max Caulfield.

"I'll be fine, Kate." Max sounds like she's trying too hard to reassure her, an uneven sort of pressure on her voice, pitch and tone all wrong.

"Max..." The sympathy that drips from Kate's voice is enough to even make Victoria feel nauseous _listening_  to it, and she can hardly imagine how Max feels, buried underneath all that grief.

It may partially be because she doesn't want to. She could hardly even look at her today.

"Really, I just want to get some sleep. Okay? I'll text you tomorrow if it makes you feel better."

That's enough to make Kate relent, because she just breathes out a little "okay", and Victoria hears a few more steps, and then the sound of a door. There's another one missing, and she waits a minute, straining to hear Max in the hallway.

Two minutes without any movement, and Victoria can't help herself, the words sliding out before she can stop them. "Max."

There it is- some movement, minor, but there. "Victoria."

"Were you just going to stand there all night?"

There's more silence, no movement. "You were listening?"

"You were loud." Victoria lies without having to think about it. "Are you actually going to sleep?"

"... no."

"Then do something productive." Victoria snips out, rocking forward on her heels, eyeing her bed from her spot against the door. She's no better. She hasn't moved an inch since she's gotten in, and her legs feel numb.

"Like talking to you?" The way Max utters that takes her off guard, makes her stumble on words she hasn't even said yet. She's unsure of what her response is supposed to be.

Max seems to take her hesitation as agreement, because Victoria hears her step closer to her door, and there's this crippling fear that blooms in her chest that she'll knock on the door, ask to come in.

Instead, she hears her stop, and then the sound of fabric sliding down the other side of the door. It takes a moment to get that she's sitting down.

Victoria's legs feel so weak at the revelation that she needs to sit, too.

"Sure, whatever."

Max hums in response.

Now that Victoria has Max to herself, it's a question of what to _do_ with her. Max doesn't seem to have much to say; Victoria is feeling too much to know what to say.

Victoria has a feeling that telling Max that Nathan is gone because of her isn't the right thing, even though it's at the tip of her tongue, bleeding through her thoughts and infecting her skull.

 _"Your best friend is dead because of mine."_ Doesn't seem quite right, either.

And so she's at a loss for words again, and there's a moment where she wants to laugh. She can't tell if that's what the quivering in her chest means, or if it means something else. It couldn't. Victoria can't remember the last time she cried with meaning, or maybe she _can,_ only she doesn't want to think about it. She shouldn't have to.

She doesn't want to think about it here, either, and so she brings her hands up to her face and presses them against her eyes, runs them down over her lips and sighs deeply. She can only imagine the track lines her fingers have made over her mascara; better that than tears.

No one is here to see her, anyways.

"Are you alright?"

There's a shuffle on the other side of the door, and it's so unbearably silent Victoria is convinced Max might have left. She wouldn't blame her. The thought makes her furious, but she wouldn't blame her.

"Is that a serious question?" The response comes very silently from the other side of the door, and Victoria rests her hands on her knees, grips at them.

"No, I guess not." Victoria manages to respond dryly, racking her mind for something else to say. The conversation is stunted, awkward, but Victoria doesn't think she can handle whatever ridiculous thoughts are going to stir once Max leaves.

Max says nothing. Victoria doesn't, either, only because everything she thinks of is either too much or too little, too forced or too genuine. Apologizing about Chloe doesn't seem right. Bringing up Nathan doesn't either.

It's horribly depressing that those are the only two topics she can think of.

"What do you want, Victoria?" Max finally mumbles, breaking the silence with a question that Victoria isn't ready for, isn't even remotely well equipped to answer.

Victoria digs her nails into her knees, pulling them back and glowering down at the indents they leave in the fabric of her slacks. There's something ricocheting in her chest at all the possible answers to that question; she wants to know if Max is okay, she wants to know if Max thinks Nathan deserved it, she wants to know if there will ever be a moment where she can talk to Max without feeling like this is something that's partially her fault.

She wants to know why she feels like she's hurting just as much as Max is, as impossible as that is. The sensation is disgusting, though at the same time, Victoria feels like they've both lost something monumental.

"I don't know." Victoria admits, despite everything. The words come out frustrated, tinged with the distaste brimming in her mouth like a poorly mixed drink. "I don't fucking know, Max."

She thinks she hears something, absolutely sure she's imagining it until she realizes she's not. It's the sliver of a laugh from the other side of the door, a laugh that dips off into a choked little breath of air.

"No one does." Max responds, as if she knows something that she doesn't, and it drives her absolutely insane. Victoria's jaw trembles, and she grinds her teeth together to stop it, closing her eyes.

"I'm..." Victoria starts, tongue thick in her mouth; Max stops her before she can try to force anything else out.

"No offense, but I kind of don't want to hear it." Max speaks with such exhaustion, as if she knows exactly what Victoria was going to say. It isn't unreasonable to assume that it'd be an apology.

The problem is that Victoria wasn't sure whether or not it was an apology herself.

The painful silence leaks in again, and Victoria resigns herself to listening to the short breathing on the other end. It's nearly therapuetic; focusing on Max's breathing makes it a million times easier to ignore her own. It's even, with a little hitch every thirteen seconds. The hitch plucks at the hairs on her arms, makes her hold her own breath until it's normal again.

It becomes routine, and she's not sure how long they've been sitting there. It could be ten minutes, or an hour. It could be longer and Victoria wouldn't mind. Not when there's something else to watch out for, other than herself.

( And Nathan, but she refuses to allow that topic to take over again. She refuses to let it dredge up the bile in the pit of her stomach and make her sick again. )

Eventually, there's a point where her breathing evens out entirely. Victoria's fingers are working at the buttons on her blazer, mumbling a twenty-five quietly when she notices how long it's been since Max has sniffled. She sets it aside, kicking off her heels and resting her head against the door, pressing her ear against it and furrowing her brows.

She allows this to go on for another five minutes that stretch into ten, and then fifteen. The only answer Victoria can come up with is that Maxine Caulfield has fallen asleep right outside her door, and she huffs and rubs at her face. Moving is exhausting.

It's not the best idea to leave her out there, Victoria knows this. It'd be hell to explain why she's there to anyone who decides to pass through- not that it isn't a miracle it hasn't already happened yet. Victoria curses sharply beneath her hand, clenches her fists and forces herself to speak up.

"Max." There's no response, not for a minute.

"Max." She tries again, a little more firmly this time, with similar results.

 _"Maxine."_ It happens as if it's a knee-jerk reaction; there's a soft thump against the other side of her door that has Victoria's heart skip a beat in surprise, a loud inhale from Max that sounds too damaged to be _normal_ , to be anything okay. Victoria nearly forces herself up to check on her, until-

"Don't-" Max croaks out with something so urgent in her tone Victoria isn't sure how to respond. "Don't call me that."

"Okay," Victoria doesn't argue because it doesn't feel right, not with the way Max sounds. "Just checking that you aren't-"

The word 'dead' almost rolls off her tongue and she winces, scraping her nails uselessly against the floor. "-asleep. In front of my door."

"That's what you care about?" The aggravation in Max's voice catches her off-guard, makes her freeze and her stomach clench.

"Listen, I was just..."

"No, you're right. I should go." It's so disorienting, how fast Max's voice goes from enraged to despondent. It makes Victoria's head pound, blood boiling in equal parts irritation and concern.

Victoria can't muster up a response, even as she hears Max getting up. It doesn't matter that there's something yearning in her chest, begging for her to speak up, to say anything to remedy the situation. To ask Max to stay, to invite her in and make up for screwing up again, even if that's not something Victoria does. For Max she feels as if she should.

"Sorry for bothering you." Max apologizes instead, and it makes Victoria want to interrupt her, to stop her from ever coming close to those words. And at the same time it's something she wants to hear, maybe not for this incident, but for everything else. For the emotions bubbling up inside her, for all the turmoil she's causing by just existing.

Victoria hears her walk away, and buries her head in her hands.

As soon as the door shuts, she finally finds her words.

"I'm sorry too."

**Author's Note:**

> are they actually going to ever be okay?? who knows  
> Tumblr is [here!.](http://chloepricewithgun.tumblr.com)


End file.
